Yours Truly, Byakuya
by grimmfeather
Summary: A private entry from Byakuya's journal sheds some light on Seireitei's latest scandal. Byakuya reminds you to read at your own risk. Humor/friendship, no author-endorsed pairings. XD


The following story is supposed to read like an entry from Byakuya's journal. Yes, he _does_ have one. XD I'm not shipping anybody here, so feel free to interpret as you like. Enjoy!

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_August 11_

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Ah, I fear I may have made a minor social blunder this afternoon—though perhaps that is an outrageous understatement of the gravity of my situation. In my defense, I'll have you know that it is not remotely within my character to ascribe worth to the usually petty social events that populate Seireitei on the usual Saturday. To name a few, drinking parties hosted by the 9th and 10th division lieutenants, wild nights that commence in downtown Seireitei bars and conclude in the 8th division headquarters, and brawls that radiate from the 11th division headquarters fill the routine social calendar. Call me cold or impersonal or perhaps the antithesis of a social butterfly, but I cannot bring myself to indulge fully in such frivolous events.

I'm the type, I suppose, who would rather spend an evening in the peaceful company of my own thoughts or that of a close friend than accompanied by a roomful of people. A gentle stroll beneath the moonlit sakura trees or through our expansive, exotically cultured estate gardens, formerly accompanied by Hisana, has always more than exceeded my criteria for the perfect afternoon or evening. A bit of stimulating conversation, a cup or two of tea, and the tranquility of atmosphere that engenders placid reflection—that's all I've ever asked, and it's all I really desire in regards to social functions.

Of course, I say that in hindsight, but I had most _definitely_ made an exception in this particular case. I had committed myself to such a course of action, resolving myself to accept this event as one that necessitated my presence. And furthermore, a great deal hung in the balance—I felt I owed Rukia a fair bit more than one of my admittedly rare, though rather distinguished appearances at a party she was hosting, but this was simply one small way to begin expressing my gratitude to both her and to that darned Kurosaki boy, despite her thorough insistence that I need not in the least deem myself in their debt.

At that point, I could hardly imagine the brand of pure forgiveness that Rukia had so freely and selflessly bestowed upon me, despite my shameful actions and attitude toward her in the weeks past. I'd single-handedly besmirched Hisana's beautiful memory, failing to protect her younger sister in the face of the petty promise I'd made at my parents' graves. Then again, it was only petty in retrospect. Would I have decided or acted any differently if given the choice a second time? Well now, there was a puzzling dilemma; it haunted me daily. In truth, I'd ultimately had little choice in the matter—Kurosaki and his bold confrontation of Soul Society had virtually made the decision for me. Yet the entire situation's relatively happy and peaceful conclusion hadn't kept me from thenceforth continually berating myself concerning such a lack of foresight and compassion on my part. I'd sincerely hoped to eventually rectify my relationship with Rukia and to disperse the guilt that plagued my heart.

But—oh, heavens—now I regret that I may have rescinded myself not to the hypothetical "square one" in my relation to Rukia, but to some even less advantageous position, such as "square negative ninety-nine" or some such. And, yes, before you call me to terms with perceived exaggeration on my part, I assure you most wholeheartedly—my predicament really is _just that awful_.

Ah, am I correct in assuming that you are now suitably intrigued? I suppose I should shed some clarity on my rather extreme statements. So here I present the whole miserable tale, woefully committed to paper for your _personal_ enjoyment. In your own best interest, you'll ensure that it is _indeed_ kept _private_. . . Not that the entirety of Soul Society hasn't already heard the pitiful story and occupied themselves by hashing over the rumors. Sweet shunpo.

At any rate, I had given Rukia my word a week ago that I would attend the gathering she had planned, supposedly just a small birthday celebration with a _few_ close friends. Turns out her interpretation of the word "few" is drastically different from mine, since the guest list included nearly _everyone_ who had aided in the least during her rescue. But that's beside the point.

Once the gathering commenced—and I had _mercifully_ remembered to attend in the first place, since as I have said, events such as these do not usually factor on my radar—that's when the trouble began. Upon entry through the gate of the 13th division gardens (which were the venue for the gathering, thanks to Ukitake-senpai's consent), I glimpsed a rather largely conspicuous pile of gifts (how could you miss it?), all addressed to Rukia. My own lieutenant's penmanship (I've learned to decipher the chicken scratch) was starkly visible, unfortunately showcased for all to see on a tag attached to one of the larger gifts in the pile, but Kurosaki's atrocious handwriting certainly stole the show, managing to stick out like a sore thumb. I sighed to myself. What _did_ they teach children in the real world nowadays? Judging by the looks of it, calligraphy was not a top priority. My grandfather would have had a fit had I ever presented my work marred by such horrendous script. But I digress.

I reached into the sleeve of my robes and placed my own modest contribution atop the precarious pile of ribbon and brightly colored wrapping. I'll admit that I'm somewhat hopeless when it comes to shopping or choosing gifts (that demon cat Yoruichi once told me that my aesthetic sense borders on zero, though I don't see anything wrong with a Wakame Taishi gikongan dispenser), so I have to admit that I had accepted some help in the gift-selecting process. I had enlisted that very demon cat as my substitute shopper—against my better judgment, might I add, but those piles of paperwork on my desk weren't going to sign themselves—and had entrusted her with a moderate sum to be spent on a suitable birthday gift for Rukia. I emphasized that Rukia was the type to appreciate the quality of a gift and the inherent sentiment expressed by the giver rather than any outward extravagant appearance, making the bounds and restrictions of her mission expressly clear before sending her off to the real world on the little expedition. The gift needed to be perfect and satisfyingly express my feelings.

Needless to say, I was slightly shocked when she strode into my office the following morning, smiling all-too-innocently, and laid a perfectly wrapped, rectangular-shaped box on my desk, all bright blue paper and gauzy white ribbon. I had half-expected Yoruichi not to show at all, having run off with the money just to spite her little "Byakubo". (Ugh, how I despise that nickname!) Another quarter of my mind had reasoned that she'd be late or abandon some monstrous atrocity of a birthday present at my door or even skip out all together and enlist some other poor fellow to complete the mission. But, no, she had actually complied with my request. . . You can believe I was highly suspicious, as her actions raised quite a few red flags in my mind, but the demon cat seemed utterly genuine for once. She turned her back to me and sauntered toward the door, the look she threw over her shoulder sweet and devoid of any usual malice as she reminded me to convey her best wishes to Rukia. I nodded blankly, unsure how to handle her predictably unpredictable behavior (I swear I'll figure that Yoruichi out one day, even if it's with my dying breath).

I experimentally poked and prodded the package, now awaiting an explosion or cloud of poisonous gas to fume from within its mysteriously innocent bindings, but my efforts were unrewarded. I couldn't very well unwrap it, of course, since logic intoned that I'd then have to _re_wrap the present. I had neither the skills nor the supplies to comply with that necessity. What, did you expect there to be a surplus of spare wrapping supplies uselessly eating up space at our already cramped division headquarters? I should think not. And, besides, I was to discover soon enough the nature of the box's contents.

Back at the party, I suffered through the necessary social blather, taking in stride the blaringly obvious whispered comments from the many who couldn't believe I had actually deigned to attend. I smiled politely at Rukia and quietly wished her sincere congratulations, to which she merely blushed in return. Kurosaki seemed to be the proverbial life of the party, managing to be everywhere at once, and I bit back my scornful and sarcastic words in order to greet him civilly, telling myself all the while that it was only for Rukia's benefit that I put up with the brat.

Various party games were assembled along the length of the garden, and I occupied myself with a cup of delicious tea (Ukitake-senpai has good taste) while everyone from Kenpachi to that hopeless 4th division member to the 10th division lieutenant Matsumoto made an absolute fool of him or herself. I grant that their antics were highly entertaining, but participation on my part was far beneath the dignity of the Kuchiki house heir. I kept mostly to myself, uncomfortably making forced small talk with Hitsugaya. At least, that was until Ukitake-senpai snatched my tea cup and all but yanked me into some idiotic game called "Pin the Tail on the Hollow". My fervent protests fell on deaf ears as a slightly wasted Kyouraku clumsily tied a blindfold over my eyes, nearly mussing my kenseikan. Of course, those conspirators would all have been cut to ribbons by this point if I hadn't been required to abandon Senbonzakura at the gate upon my entrance. Pity.

I resolved to be a good sport about it, despite the ridiculous unfairness of it all, as ten pairs of hands spun me around in a dizzying circle. When they had finished, I took a moment to right my bearings before confidently marching forward and planting the tail in what I was sure was the perfect position. Only when I tentatively raised the blindfold did I discover that I had in reality pinned the tail about an embarrassing meter to the left of the paper Hollow. General laugher erupted around me, and I'll admit that I cracked a smile.

With that, someone decided to advance the party agenda to the presentation of the birthday cake, and we were all ushered inside to observe Rukia blow out the candles on a massive cake that utterly dwarfed her in size, all while the guests sang the most horribly off-key version of "Happy Birthday" I've heard to date. I sang along half-heartedly, unsure of the exact lyrics, but I swear that Kenpachi is completely and gracelessly tone-deaf. I thought my eardrums would burst. Slices of cake were passed around as Kurosaki assisted Rukia in cutting the cake (thank all that is good, he used a cake server in place of Zangetsu), and I was eventually handed a large slice. I took a cautious bite and found that, as I had expected, it was too much sugar and icing and too little cake. Disgusting, I know, but I stomached it anyway, wishing all the while for another glass of tea.

Afterwards, Abarai staggered into the room, burdened by the heap of gifts he'd transported from the front gate. Rukia blushed again and made some comment about having such wonderful friends. The rest of the room's inhabitants cheered her on, but I simply sat there in shock, calculating that at a rate of approximately five minutes per gift (to allot for unwrapping and heaping exorbitant thanks upon the giver), this process would eat up my entire afternoon. I sighed to myself, regretting that I wouldn't be able to finish my paperwork early and take a walk tonight.

I endured the first ten gifts with suitable grace and interest, observing Rukia as she opened presents ranging from Abarai's handmade, Chappy-themed photo album to Ishida's hand-sewn sundress. Kurosaki, then also blushing, presented Rukia with a surprisingly tasteful selection of twelve red roses and a coupon for a fancy dinner back in the real world. When Rukia gasped and jumped up to embrace him, Kurosaki simply shrugged off her compliments and looked away, grinning rather sheepishly. I begrudgingly gave him some points for class on that one.

About midway through the pile, after I had grown impatient with the suspense of waiting for the contents of my package to be unveiled, Rukia finally selected said blue-wrapped box. After sending a warm smile in my direction and announcing to the room in general that this present bore my name on the tag, she took a moment to admire the paper and ribbon, appreciating the subtleties, before gingerly tearing it open to reveal a nondescript white shirt box. She lifted the lid, pulled back the crinkly tissue paper, and—with a suddenly furrowed brow—studied the contents of the box diligently for a minute or so. This piqued my interest, and I immediately feared the worst, though I couldn't see past the lid of the box. A hushed silence pervaded the roomful of formerly chatty party attendees, and it seemed my fears weren't unfounded, as Rukia delicately held up a _black_ and _lacy_ something, some silky scrap of fabric, for all the overly curious onlookers to behold.

When I received a full view of the _thing_, I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. The first thought that flashed through my mind involved storming out of the room in a cool, calm rage, hell-bent on tracking Yoruichi down to the ends of the Earth and personally ensuring her agonizingly slow and wholly deserved death. My second thought, riding directly on the heels of the last, bordered on some primal fight-or-flight instinct that dominated my brain as all eyes in the room, ever so tediously and painfully slowly, swiveled to fixate on mine. Without Senbonzakura by my side, the urge to flee most _definitely_ overshadowed any desire to fumble some gibbering semblance of words together when I realized I was _trapped_ and trapped well. To my smallest and most insignificant credit, however, I _did_ try.

"I. . .I don't. . ."

Well, I never said I'd succeed. I choked a few syllables out, floundering around for justification or an apology or even an excuse. None was forthcoming. My brain chimed in helpfully, screaming, _Lingerie! It's black, lacy, skimpy **lingerie**! Of all things! Heaven's mercy, help me!_ Apparently, Yoruichi had different thoughts concerning how I should express my sentiments toward Rukia.

That's when I decided to hedge my bets, and the prodding instinct to flee immediately won out. I beat a hasty retreat, tripping over my robes as I slammed the door open, rocking it on its frame, and spirited myself away to relative safety, putting my shunpo to its best use in years. Yoruichi, damn, _damn_ that demon cat, would have been proud.

Heavens, I think that's enough for tonight. I had barricaded myself in my room, my sequestered candle has since burned to a nub, and I never did get to take that walk. And, besides, there's tomorrow to face. I need my rest.

Sincerely,

Byakuya

P.S. None, I repeat, _none_ of this incident requires further publicity. Trust me, I have ways to know if you've told.

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This idea had been collecting dust on my hard drive for a while now, at least until I pulled it out recently to attempt wrapping it up. Thanks to a friend for the gift idea. XD To be continued. . .?


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